A Soft White
by poetzproblem
Summary: The worst of the storm hit Friday afternoon, and it's already working its way out to sea. All that's left is the cleanup and the backlog of stranded travelers scrambling to get home as airports slowly reopen and return to full capacity. By Monday, New York will be business as usual. Faberry Week, Day 7: Snowed In.


**Author's Note:** Written for Faberry Week, Day 7 - _Snowed In. _And thus concludes my attempt to fill all the prompts. Here be the bit of smut.

Eternal thanks and cyber-hugs to Skywarrior108 for being the most awesome beta ever. Everyone go thank her for organizing and running these Faberry Weeks.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _Glee_ or the characters, I just like to play with them…strictly non-profit.

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**A Soft White**

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_The snow doesn't give a soft white damn whom it touches.__  
~E.E. Cummings, Soft White Damn_

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"What do you mean there are no flights available until Wednesday? Today is Saturday," Rachel snaps, her voice beginning to take on a frantic edge. "Either you're suggesting that we travel back in time, or you're telling me that we can't get a flight to New York until next week!"

The woman at the airline desk—Tiffanie, with an 'ie'—continues to smile in that sickly-sweet, completely fake way that Rachel is all too familiar with. She's a performer after all. She practices that smile every morning in her mirror, and even if she didn't, she's been living with the master of that smile for the last ten years. Quinn Fabray has won awards for the employment of that smile and all the illusions of innocent wholesomeness it implies!

"I'm sorry, Ms. Berry," Tiffanie replies, hardly sounding sorry at all. "But we've had hundreds of flights canceled due to the storm, and everyone is being forced to make new arrangements to get home. The soonest I can get you on a flight to either JFK or LaGuardia is next Thursday. Or I can get you into Newark on Wednesday night."

"That's completely unacceptable," she rants, slapping her palm down on the counter.

"Rach, it's all right." The words are murmured soothingly at her side, and she turns to Quinn with a frown, studying her wife's calm expression that belies the frustration that she can see shining so clearly in hazel eyes.

"It's not. You have to be back in New York on Monday," she reminds her unnecessarily. Quinn is scheduled to tape an interview for _Good Morning America_ to promote her new film, and then she has a fan meet-and-greet in SoHo—not to mention the premiere itself on Tuesday night! Rachel already had her dress pressed and ready to go before they'd left New York on Wednesday.

Now they're inconceivably snowed-in at Orlando International Airport!

Well, it's not snowing in Orlando, obviously, but apparently it's snowing everywhere else within a two hundred mile radius of New York City.

"Maybe we can rent a car and drive back," Quinn tentatively suggests, although her tone implies that this isn't an option she really wants to pursue. Quinn and driving haven't been on overly friendly terms since high school, and sixteen hours in a car—a portion of which traveling through regions currently being slammed by what's being reported as the worst nor'easter in ten years—is something that neither one of them really wants to do.

Rachel raises her eyebrows. "Through a blizzard?"

Quinn deflates before her, sighing in resignation. "I guess I'll have to cancel my appearances."

Rachel's heart lurches. Quinn has been working steadily for years on two consecutive television series, one of which had won her an Emmy as a supporting actress, and she's had a handful of minor film roles as girlfriends and sisters and daughters, but this is the first time her name is getting top-billing, and Rachel doesn't want her to miss out on a single moment.

"Perhaps everything will be rescheduled due to the weather," Rachel offers hopefully, but they both know it's unlikely. The worst of the storm hit Friday afternoon, and it's already working its way out to sea. All that's left is the cleanup and the backlog of stranded travelers scrambling to get home as airports slowly reopen and return to full capacity. By Monday, New York will be business as usual.

She should have never convinced Quinn to come with her, but she'd been invited to perform in the annual _Disney Parks Christmas Day Parade_—she's the voice of Princess Winifred in _The Princess and the Pea—_and she'd thought it would be fun to use the occasion to have a little vacation with Quinn. And it had been fun. Rachel had recorded her song in front of a select audience early Thursday morning before the Magic Kingdom officially opened, and the rest of the time had been spent with Quinn, wearing jeans and t-shirts emblazoned with Disney characters and with their hair tucked into ponytails underneath their baseball caps as they'd blended in seamlessly with the other park-goers. They're both very talented actresses, after all, and able to fly under the radar when they need to. Neither one of them had expected a significant snowfall to impede their return trip this early in December.

Determined, Rachel turns back to Tiffanie and leans against the counter. "How close can you get us to New York in the next twenty-four hours?"

Tiffanie's pale brows furrow, but her (fake) smile doesn't slip. She drops her gaze to her computer screen and begins tapping the keys, and after about five minutes, she says, "I can get you two seats on a flight into Dulles at 7:40 tomorrow morning."

"We'll take it," Rachel announces without a second thought.

"Wait," Quinn interrupts, touching Rachel's shoulder. "That's Washington, Rach."

"I know," Rachel tells her. "But it's closer to New York than Orlando. If we can't get another flight home from there, then maybe the trains will be running by tomorrow, or the buses. And, not that it's my fist choice, obviously, but if we have to, we'll rent a car, and I will battle the snow and ice to get us home in time for your premiere, if nothing else."

Quinn chuckles and leans forward, pecking Rachel's lips sweetly. "My hero," she jokes. "Okay, let's do it."

Rachel gives a firm nod to Tiffanie—whose smile suddenly looks just a little more genuine. "Okay, then. Two tickets to Dulles," she repeats, warning them that, "The seats aren't together."

"That's fine," Rachel says with a dismissive wave.

Tiffanie plugs away at her computer some more before she prints off the boarding passes. "Here you go. Ms. Berry," she says with a smile, handing the passes over the counter.

"Thank you," Quinn says kindly, picking up her carry-on. "You've been very helpful."

"I'm just doing my job, Ms. Fabray," Tiffanie tells her with a wry grin. "In fact, I couldn't help but overhear your conversation, and I took the liberty of checking our departures out of Dulles tomorrow. There are a few seats still available on our 5:30 flight into JFK."

Rachel's squeals in joy, jumping up and down in the queue line as she taps the counter. "Yes, yes. We'll take them as well."

"Please," Quinn adds with a relieved sigh, wrapping an arm around Rachel and leaning into her side.

Tiffanie quirks an eyebrow. "I'll just need a credit card," she tells Rachel with a pointed look. "It is a separate reservation, after all." Rachel narrows her eyes in frustration—as if she'd be booking a separate reservation if she had any other viable choice!—but digs into her bag and hands over her card.

Once everything is paid for and the passes are safely in their hands, Tiffanie has the nerve to ask Quinn for an autograph and a photo. "I'm a really big fan of your show, and I can't wait to see you in _Jericho,_" she gushes, mentioning Quinn's soon-to-be-released film.

Rachel huffs and crosses her arms as she waits for her wife to finish collecting adulation and praise from their airline ticketing agent. She's not at all annoyed that Tiffanie, with an 'ie,' doesn't seem interested in collecting _her_ autograph. After all, a successful Broadway career, two Tonys, an album inching up the pop charts and earning a Grammy nomination—which she is thrilled about, thank you very much!—and voicing a popular Disney character is apparently nothing. Okay—she's a little annoyed.

At times, it's been amusing to experience how fans react to them, both separately and together. There are some who can recite every line that Rachel has ever delivered on a Broadway stage and sing every song, or who laughingly tell her that their sons or daughters play _The Princess and the Pea_ on repeat before going on to reveal far too much information about said children, or ask her to sign copies of her album—and she'll never know how they just happen to have a CD on them when they "run into her" in the street. Then there are others who turn into besotted, rambling loons as they declare their love for Quinn despite her very-married status, telling her that they they've seen every episode of _Fate Accompli_, or that her character inspired them and changed their lives. And some of them are excited to the point of tears to stumble over the both of them together, begging for pictures and squealing that they "ship them so hard," whatever that means.

Occasionally, Rachel will be called a self-centered diva on twitter by some disgruntled fan.

Occasionally, Quinn will be referred to as a bitchy ice queen.

More often than not, there are tweets about Rachel's bubbly personality and how much shorter she is in real life (though she's really not _that _short!) coupled with tweets about how Quinn is even more gorgeous in person and every bit as intelligent and well-spoken as she appears to be on television.

Once Quinn is finally finished with Tiffanie, she offers an obligatory apology to the dozens of people still in line behind them, who look frazzled and worried and impatient to make their own travel arrangements. She slips her hand into Rachel's as they make their way out of the ticketing area and into the terminal concourse where there are shops, restaurants, and stranded travelers littered all over the chairs and tables. "So, what do we do until tomorrow morning," Quinn asks, glancing around the crowded airport. "I'm not exactly in the mood to sleep here tonight."

"I suppose we could attempt to secure a hotel room."

Quinn chuckles. "Do you think there are still any vacancies anywhere?"

Rachel looks around them with a thoughtful frown. "Well, it can't hurt to try," she decides, digging out her phone so that she can begin to start looking for hotels. Quinn absently hums her agreement as she continues to study their surroundings, slowly drifting away while Rachel diligently searches her phone app for Orlando airport hotels. "Oh," she gasps, pleasantly surprised. "There's a Hyatt inside the airport," Rachel announces triumphantly, lifting her gaze to her wife and finding an empty space. "Quinn?" she calls out, frantically spinning around until she glimpses the familiar head of blonde hair slipping inside the entrance of the very same Hyatt—which is just a few yards away from them. Rachel sighs in exasperation. Sometimes she thinks she needs to put a bell on Quinn to keep track of her sneaky, silent ways.

She rushes after her wife, pulling her suitcase behind her and coming to stand beside Quinn at the registration desk just in time to hear her ask if there are any rooms available.

"I'm afraid we're full," the gentleman says. "Unless you'd be interested in our Lindbergh Suite."

"We'll take it," Quinn says without pause.

Rachel rolls her eyes at how the tables have turned. She levels her gaze on the desk clerk. "How much is that going to cost us?"

"Rachel," Quinn admonishes. "Don't be difficult. They have a room, and if we're stuck here until tomorrow morning, then we're sleeping in a bed tonight."

"Yes, dear" she says sweetly, grinning when Quinn rolls her eyes. Then Rachel turns back to the clerk and again asks, "How much?"

Quinn sighs resignedly.

The clerk quotes them the price, which is a nice four figure number, and Rachel gasps. "That's highway robbery! No wonder it's still available." She can't imagine any average traveler paying that much for one night in an airport hotel!

"Rachel," Quinn growls. "It's not like we can't afford it."

"That's hardly the point."

Quinn rolls her eyes. "It kind of is." She turns to the clerk with a smile, repeating, "We'll take it," before she slides her own credit card across the counter.

After signing the receipt, the clerk calls over a bellman to help them with their luggage and show them to the suite, despite the fact that they both only have carry on bags. When they clear the door, they both murmur in tandem "Oh my," because it really is an amazing room. A spacious living area with two bedrooms boasting California Kings, a full bathroom with a jacuzzi tub, mahogany and cherry wood accents, a kitchenette, a marble-topped credenza, and a balcony sporting an incredible view of the runway.

Quinn grins and practically skips into the room, setting about to examine every inch of the suite and leaving Rachel to tip the bellman. She'd learned long ago that Quinn has a secret love of luxurious hotel rooms, so it doesn't surprise her at all how quickly her wife had jumped on this opportunity. It's almost a shame that they'll only be here for the night—although certainly not for their bank account.

"This almost makes up for the canceled flight," Quinn observes as she runs her fingers over the gorgeous credenza.

"Not really," Rachel mutters, wheeling her carry-on (and Quinn's) all the way into the suite to find one of the bedrooms. They'd originally been scheduled to fly out at six o'clock, and it was nearly nine now. She was tired and hungry and still wound up over having her plans torpedoed so spectacularly.

"You need to relax, Rach. We're lucky everything is working out so far."

"_So far_ being the key phrase," Rachel reminds her, uttering a quiet, "Ah ha," when she finds the bedroom, lugging the bags inside and practically throwing herself across the bed. "Who knows what might happen tomorrow," she calls out, staring at the ceiling despondently. "Our flights could be canceled again, or delayed. We could be stuck here for another week."

Although perhaps not _here_ exactly—not at these prices. They might both be successful, but they weren't made of money. They had to be diligent in planning for their future once Broadway and Hollywood no longer cared to come knocking at their doors.

Rachel feels the mattress dip and rise, and Quinn suddenly appears over her, straddling her hips and sporting a sexy grin. "At least we're together," Quinn tells her, leaning down to brush her lips over Rachel's mouth. "And I can think of a few ways to pass the time."

Rachel's brows lift. "Aren't you tired? It's been a long, stressful day."

Quinn shrugs, smiling cheekily. "I caught a second wind. And," she drawls, dragging out the word as she drags her fingertips over Rachel's collarbone, "I know the perfect way to work out all that stress."

Rachel isn't exactly feeling a second wind, but she's certainly feeling something warm and pleasant begin to tingle where Quinn is pressed against her. "Do you?" she asks mildly as her hands slide over Quinn's thighs, working up over the denim covering her skin until they're cupping her glorious hips. "What did you have in mind?"

Quinn leans closer, brushing the tip of her nose over Rachel's before she dips down and captures her lower lip, suckling on it with expert technique for long, languid moments until she finally slips her tongue inside Rachel's mouth. Quinn certainly makes a convincing argument.

Rachel moans, sliding her hands over her wife's ass and squeezing. Quinn nips at her lip again, tugging it with her teeth before she lets go and lifts her head, gazing down at Rachel with twinkling eyes. "That's only a small part of my strategy to de-stress you."

Rachel groans, trying to pull Quinn back down, but her wife giggles, scampering away and off the bed. "Quinn," Rachel whines, lifting up onto her elbows with a pout. "This is not an appropriate occasion to tease me."

"Who says I'm teasing," Quinn challenges, crossing her hands at the hem of her t-shirt and lifting it up over her head in one smooth motion before dropping it onto the floor. She unhooks her bra with one hand and lets it slide down her arms, and Rachel licks her lips hungrily. Quinn really does have the most exquisite body. One tawny eyebrow lifts suggestively, and her fingers easily unfasten the button of her jeans and drag the zipper down halfway. Then she turns and pads over to the door, ignoring Rachel's hiss of disappointed protest and glancing over her shoulder with a toss of her hair. "I'm going to take a nice, relaxing bath in that jacuzzi," she reveals in a low purr. "If you care to join me."

And okay, now Rachel is feeling that second wind, because she jumps off the mattress and chases after her wife, nearly tackling her from behind in the living room. Quinn squeals in delight, laughing as she turns in Rachel's arms and kisses her sloppily. They stumble into the sofa and bounce off the wall on their way into the bathroom. Rachel's shirt gets tugged off along the way, and she toes off her shoes, nearly tripping over her own feet, but Quinn catches her and holds her close, keeping her lips attached to any and every part of Rachel that she can reach. Even after so many years together, their sex-life is still alive and healthy and so incredibly exciting.

Rachel drags Quinn's zipper the rest of the way down, pushing at the denim until it slides over her hips and down her legs. Quinn falls back against the marble counter housing the double sink as she struggles to get her shoes off and free herself from her jeans. Rachel leans into her side and nibbles at her neck, circling a fingernail over her rigid nipple and grinning when Quinn growls in frustration, finally giving up any attempt at finesse and kicking her shoes across the bathroom before giving her jeans the same treatment.

"Someone's eager," Rachel murmurs, trailing her mouth across her wife's jaw as she works her body between Quinn's legs and dips a hand inside her panties, discovering just how eager she is. Quinn moans, attacking Rachel's slacks, which proves to be difficult for her with Rachel's fingers teasing her clit.

"You need to get naked," Quinn demands, though the gasps and moans dull the edge of authority in the command.

"If you insist," Rachel says with a chuckle and traces her tongue over Quinn's lips as she slowly drags glistening fingers out of her panties and up over her belly. Quinn whimpers, dropping her forehead to Rachel's shoulder while her fingers tighten around the waist of Rachel's slacks.

"Now who's teasing?" she whispers.

"I'm just obeying my wife," Rachel defends playfully. "Isn't that one of the vows?"

Quinn hums in agreement—at least Rachel thinks that it's agreement—before she opens her mouth against Rachel's shoulder and closes her teeth over the flesh, giving her a not-too-gentle bite. It's Rachel's turn to moan, and she feels Quinn's mouth form a smile against her skin. "Love, honor, obey, and fuck me senseless right now."

Rachel moans again, because hearing Quinn curse always turns her on that much more. She fumbles with her own slacks, shucking them off in a surprisingly fluid motion under the circumstances, and then Quinn's mouth is over hers again, and her hands are roaming over Rachel's body. The jacuzzi is completely forgotten for the time being, because Rachel has to have Quinn right now, and filling that tub will take an inordinately long time. So she pushes her wife back against the counter again and quickly divests her of her panties, urging her to hoist herself up.

Quinn's eyelids flutter, and she bites into her lower lip as she complies, bracing her hands on Rachel's shoulders once she's seated and instantly spreading her legs. Rachel inhales deeply, loving the sight and the scent of her wife spread out before her—naked and wanting and so very, very sexy. With a crooked grin, Rachel steps between Quinn's legs, feeling the wet heat of her pressed against her belly as she feasts on Quinn's perfect breasts. She circles her tongue around Quinn's nipple, grinning when she feels fingers tangle in her hair and pull her closer while strong legs tighten around her waist. Quinn's hips rock against Rachel and the counter, and her breath starts to come in a short staccato.

That won't do.

Rachel reluctantly drags her mouth away from Quinn's breasts and tugs at her legs, prodding them to loosen just enough to allow Rachel room to maneuver. She pulls Quinn forward on the counter, causing her to gasp in surprised arousal, and drops to her knees, grinning wickedly up at her wife before she leans forward and kisses her intimately. It's pretty much her favorite thing in the world. She slides her tongue through Quinn's folds, rolling it just the way she likes and making her cry out and tangle her fingers into Rachel's hair. She knows that she can make her come just like this, fluttering the tip against her clit and spelling out rambling soliloquies to Quinn's beauty and grace. She's done it before. Or she can dip inside and curl it just so to make Quinn swear and hiss and buck against her mouth. Tonight, she does a bit of both, reaching up to curve her fingers around Quinn's breasts and lavish her nipples with attention. Let it never be said that Rachel Berry isn't good at multitasking.

"Oh, my God! Oh, Rachel. Oh, fuck, yes!"

These are some of Rachel's favorite phrases, and they increase in repetition and volume as she carries her wife to the very highest crest and pushes her over. Quinn comes with a cry and a (painful) twist of Rachel's hair as her hips buck erratically against her mouth. Rachel indulges in one last, deep lick before she pulls herself up and catches Quinn in her arms just as she goes limp. Rachel's knees loudly protest the quick change of position, and she groans—not in the good way.

Her own body is throbbing with arousal, and she realizes belatedly that Quinn's plan to de-stress only worked for one of them. Quinn hums drowsily against her shoulder, pressing her lips there in a weak kiss. "I love this bathroom," she murmurs.

Rachel chuckles. "You loved getting fucked in this bathroom."

Quinn moans lowly, dragging her fingers down Rachel's sweaty back. "I love _you_," she says with a happy sigh. "Just give me five minutes, and then we're getting in that tub and getting dirty."

Rachel laughs at the irony, hugging Quinn tight. "If I let you go to run the water, are you going to pass out on me?"

Quinn scoffs, lifting her head and dragging her body into a sitting position. "When have I _ever _done that? Don't even pretend that I don't give as good as I get."

Rachel grins widely. "Oh, I know you do, baby. I'm kind of counting on it," she says, pressing a quick kiss to Quinn's mouth. "You did promise to help me relax, and right now," she takes Quinn's hand, "I am very," she pulls it down between her legs, "very," and guides Quinn's fingers inside of her, "wound up."

Quinn's fingers curl and press, and Rachel hisses in pleasure. Quinn only lingers for a few seconds before she reclaims her hand, sliding her fingers between her lips with a satisfied smirk before she slips off the counter—her legs wobbling for just a few seconds until she's standing sure. "Let's get you nice and...loose," she suggests with a wicked smile, pulling Rachel against her and kissing her deeply.

She dances them over to the tub, breaking away from Rachel just long enough to twist the faucet handles and start the water before turning back to her wife. Quin presses her against the nearby wall and proceeds to slowly, sensually kiss and caress every part of her body. She slips her fingers back between Rachel's legs, circling her clit in tiny, teasing strokes while the tub fills. Rachel feels the pressure start to build, drawing her body tight as the water rises higher with every passing second. She's still so aroused just from having Quinn on her tongue that it really wouldn't take much, even if Quinn wasn't an expert in working her up in the most delicious way.

But Quinn _is_ an expert, and she knows just how to touch Rachel to make her body race toward completion.

Quinn leans against her, pressing a firm thigh against the back of her own hand to add friction "I can feel how close you are," she whispers in that low, sexy voice—mouth hot against Rachel's ear—sending delicious shivers through every part of her. "Come for me, Rachel."

And she does, rolling her hips hard against Quinn's hand and breaking beautifully in shudders and gasps with Quinn's name on her lips just as the tub fills to the brim. Quinn is only able to hold her for a moment while her breath catches and little tremors of post-orgasmic bliss rock her body before she's forced to let go. She jerks away just in time to keep the tub from flooding over, leaving Rachel boneless against the wall and nearly sliding down to the floor. But then Quinn is back, lifting Rachel into her arms with a chuckle and a sweet kiss. "You seem pretty relaxed now," she observes. "Which one of us is going to pass out?"

Rachel barely manages to slap her ass. "Shut up and help me into the tub. I'm all sweaty now, and I want a bath."

"You do know I'm not planning to let you get any cleaner in that tub, don't you?" Quinn asks with a grin.

Rachel smiles back at her. "Well, we're paying enough for this suite. We might as well enjoy it thoroughly."

"Oh, I intend to," Quinn promises, sealing it with a kiss.

By the time they finally collapse into that huge, comfortable bed—their alarm set and checked and double checked—they've seen multiple returns on their investment. They only get two hours of sleep, but they'll have plenty of time to nap on the plane and about six hours of downtime to kill in Washington tomorrow. It's not the worst way to spend a snow day.


End file.
